


Eventually Love

by RosieBrookMeade



Category: The Strain (TV)
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Bathing/Washing, Cunnilingus, Eventual Sex, F/M, Foot Jobs, Large Penis, Master/Slave, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pregnancy, Pregnant Sex, Rating May Change, Sexual Fantasy, Slave Trade, Slow Burn But With Early Sex Scene, Vanilla
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-21
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2018-09-19 01:56:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9412673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RosieBrookMeade/pseuds/RosieBrookMeade
Summary: ...Eventually sex too...The Berber girl had known nothing but abuse and exploitation in her short life. Her father had given her away as the sweetener for a potential alliance and shortly thereafter, he and her new husband were killed in a raid. Now pregnant, she waits in a sleazy Roman slaver’s pen for the next man who will treat her as a piece of meat.It may not seem like it initially but this is going to be her lucky day.This is one of the stories that Quintus will not tell Sexta.AU: Faustus Sertorius is the one who gives Quintus a wife therefore it happens much earlier than in the book trilogy and she is pregnant when he buys her rather than having a small child.





	1. Chapter 1

In the noisy, smelly market, all the slaves were naked - the better to show prospective buyers exactly what they were getting.

The slave dealer watched one particular girl through a knothole in the fence. He knew someone who would want her. When he came to think about it, he didn’t know anyone who wouldn’t want that lithe, olive-skinned little peach. Specifically he knew someone who would and, more importantly, _could_ pay an enormous sum for her. Senator Gallus’ old eunuch knew his job and could anticipate his master’s taste as if he were still young and entire himself.

With her long coiling strands of black hair, the doe-eyed girl looked like some kind of anti-medusa: one glance from whom could turn any man instantly into solid wood…He shifted uncomfortably as she did exactly that to him. He thought hard about all the coins he’d forfeit if he acted on his impulse. The captor had sworn she was a virgin and he tended not to lie when denarii were at stake but the senator’s eunuch would check her after purchase and demand recompense if she were found to be unsatisfactory. So he only watched. After all, money was money and anyway, the reality would never match the fantasy.

Yes, he watched and he imagined. He imagined her soft, brown hands on his meat instead of his calloused, old fist. He imagined those luminous green-gold eyes gazing into his. He imagined her full lips closing around his…

Then, too soon, just as it was occurring to him that he could act on these particular desires without spoiling the merchandise…Ahhhh-Uhh Uhuh unh Ahhhhhhhhh!!

Well, that hadn’t taken long. He cleaned himself off into a bucket of water and put it in her pen for her to drink. He was turning to waddle out towards the street to attract some sellers for the less beautiful but more functional of his livestock before he closed for the night, when he heard a choked off snort of contempt. He turned round to glare at the pregnant Berber girl. She was cowering in the back of her pen, bitterly regretting letting her scorn become audible.

‘You!’ he snarled at her, a horrible smile creasing his sweaty jowls. ‘I need not be so careful about _you_ …’

He unlocked the gate to her cage and advanced slowly, belly wobbling from side to side. ‘I can hardly sell _you_ as a virgin, can I?’ he leered, eyes travelling all over her body.’

Terrified, she made a break for the exit but he was quicker than he looked and grabbed her by the arms. ‘But perhaps, if you please me, I can sell you as a whore…’

He chuckled nastily, pushing his ugly face up close to hers. ‘I hope you can endure me for a nice long time, sweet thing. It can take ages for me to finish so soon after a good release.’

He kicked her legs out from under her and held her down in the straw, kneeling between her thighs. She was flailing her legs, hissing and scratching like a wildcat and he had to take both of her wrists in one hand to get himself free of his clothing. Twice in one evening, this was turning into a great night…

There was a sudden breath of wind as something incredibly fast blew past behind him. The poor girl gasped to see a glimpse of an almost human face behind her attacker. Then it was gone in an instant and there was no more hope for her. She screwed her eyes shut, gritted her teeth and went rigid, waiting for it all to be over.

She had no illusions about life as a slave. She knew her future would almost certainly include nightly rape by her new owner but she still naïvely hoped that whoever he was he’d be more gentle and less disgusting this gargoyle.

‘Maybe, if I go hard enough, I’ll be able to fuck that baby right out of you,’ he laughed, gusting his faecal breath straight in her face.

A shout from the street front stopped the slaver. He froze with the hand holding her wrists pushing on her belly and the other gripping the top of her thigh preventing her closing her legs. He was furious to be interrupted but too greedy to decline any sales opportunity. He clambered upright with much grunting and adjusted his clothing to make his …excitement less obvious.

He patted the girl’s bump and said cheerfully, ‘Don’t worry pet, I’ll sell him something quickly and be back before you know it. I know what you’re hoping, love, but he won’t be interested in buying your scrawny little body, swollen with another man’s spawn.’

He wasn’t exaggerating. She really wasn’t pretty in any way. Her features were unremarkable at best and the pregnancy coming so early in her life had stunted her growth. He was still sniggering over his shoulder when he came out to the front of the stall so he ran into his prospective customer.

‘Oof,’ he yelped, rubbing the ear that had collided with his client’s elbow. The slaver looked up… and further up, into the face of a statue. An extremely handsome statue, he would have to admit. An extremely _scary_ , handsome statue, he added to himself, as the creature lowered his pastel blue eyes to his. The merchant stepped back involuntarily and swallowed hard. Every chiselled line in the alabaster face was tight with repressed fury and while most of it was directed at him, some seemed to be simply a general rage against the universe.

‘I wish to buy,’ he announced, in a voice as pleasing as his appearance and, strangely, just as intimidating.

The dealer wasn’t expecting that but he barely missed a beat. ‘Does Sir, have a price range in mind?’ he oiled.

The customer didn’t reply, instead demanding curtly, ‘Show me your girls.’

‘Certainly, sir,’ he said, rubbing his hands…A _really_ great night, he thought.

He paraded every female slave regardless of age before his patron, with the exceptions of his pregnant plaything and the girl he had earmarked for the rich senator.

The living statue had watched dispassionately and in silence as they were all dragged past but when the slaver finished and returned to ask him eagerly if he’d made a selection, the creature only asked pointedly for ALL the girls to be displayed for him. When the merchant hesitated, the browser wordlessly removed a clinky pouch from the depths of his toga and tossed it from hand to hand.

The trader estimated the weight of the coin and did some mental calculations, factoring in the icy dread that crept up his spine whenever those inhuman eyes turned his way, and decided that Senator Gallus could find himself another toy. He brought the Sicilian beauty out for viewing with an air of one reluctantly parting with a member of their family and was flabbergasted when the client took less than a second to shake his head.

‘But…but… _look_ at her, sir,’ he sputtered, waving his hands helplessly over the girl’s perfect body. ‘I mean, just LOOK! Go on have a feel too,’ he adds, squidging a perky breast. ‘I have nothing finer than this, sir, and that’s the truth.’

‘But you have _something_ else,’ said the creature coldly. It was not a question.

The slaver shrugged and sighed. Cold hard cash in hand was worth more than a few seconds of stolen pleasure and besides, he reckoned the profit would pay for a several hours in the company of the _lupanarium_ ’s most skilful young ladies. He had a quick leer, a grope and some choice words of advice for the Berber girl before leading her out to the customer.

When she caught sight of the creature standing there, she froze in terror and tried to go back to the pens. She thought she’d recognised the ghostly face that had appeared behind the slaver while he was trying to rape her. In the end, the dealer had to drag her forward by the collar. He wanted to use the goad on her but something about the client’s icy disapproval warned him not to.

The creature’s eyes travelled slowly over the girl’s body, taking in the cringing posture, the tearstains, the red marks on her wrists and thighs and lingering on her belly.

The merchant presumed that the client was being deterred by her pregnancy and used it instead as a selling point - a kind of buy-one-get-one-free deal.

‘As well as being able to sing and play, cook and sew - not to mention a very willing fuck, if I’m any judge,’ said the slave trader, oblivious to the marble head snapping round to fix him with a look of complete revulsion. ‘And I think I am…’ He nudged the big Born where his waist should be and hurt his elbow on a very hard hipbone. ‘You wait a few months and you’ve got yourself your very own family. Eh? Sir? Whaddaya say? That could be very attractive to a…a…’ The greasy little homunculus cast about for an appropriate description before plumping for convention, ‘…a man like yourself?

The buyer gave him a very long stare before silently dropping the full asking price and more into the sweaty palm.

‘Oh, thank you sir, most gracious,’ oozed the slaver. ‘A true Patrician.’ He continued to babble obsequiously while he passed the girl’s neck chain over.

‘Remove the collar,’ the new owner demanded and, just before leaving with his purchase, he grasped the merchant by the elbow and bent down to whisper in his ear.

‘The extra money is for a bath and a wholesome supper. See that you get both tonight.’

He handed his new property his _pallium_ but didn’t presume to drape it around her possessively. Then, to the slaver’s shock the big man crouched down to address his slave.

‘What is your name?’ he asked gently.

‘Tasa, master,’ she whispered, eyes wide at her new owner’s size as much as his bizarre appearance.

He winced at the honorific. ‘Mine is Quintus,’ he said. ‘I desire no other address. You are a free woman now, Tasa.’

The merchant hissed at the extravagance.

‘I am heavy with child and I have nowhere else to go, sir…I mean Quintus,’ she corrected hurriedly. ‘May I come with you?’

Quintus stood up and nodded down at Tasa, then he stood back and gestured to her to lead him out of the stall. She hesitated for a moment, gave him a nervous smile and left.

Over his shoulder, Quintus reminded the slaver coldly, ‘Remember, a bath and some good food.’

The dealer looked down at the fortune in his hands and decided it would be unwise to disobey. In any case, it would do him no harm to be clean and at full strength for his evening of love…


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quintus makes his way back home with his new purchase, who takes steps to make the inevitable easier on herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sure I can improve on this but at some stage, I have to get it posted and out there. I can always tinker with it later.
> 
> I am uncomfortable with some of the euphemisms from the romantic fiction lexicon that I’ve used here. I think they sound false coming from me, but the received wisdom is that anatomical terms kill the mood. I would welcome your feedback and advice.
> 
> One final thing before we get right down to it…This is not the proper, self-controlled, gentlemanly Quintus that Sexta Sertorius knows (or thinks she knows). Somewhere, on one of my fics, I said I wanted to track Mr Quinlan from monster to hero and Tasa’s story happens much closer to the start of that journey.

Tasa led the way out into the busy evening city. The …individual who had introduced himself as Quintus had insisted upon her going in front although she had no idea where she was going. Presumably, he would correct her if she went wrong.

She clutched the _pallium_ about her for warmth and modesty. Amongst all these clothed people, she became self-conscious and embarrassed about her nakedness. Strangely, despite her escape from that odious slaver’s clutches, she also felt increasingly vulnerable.

The woollen cloak was soft and warm. It was also large enough to cover her from neck to toe. In fact, she had to be careful not to let it drag on the floor. It had to be big to fit _him_ – her…what? Her new master? No, he’d been very definite on that point. Her rescuer? She wasn’t sure about that either. Certainly, he had just declared her a free woman but knowing that she was pregnant, alone and far from home it would have been easy to predict that she would choose the shelter and security he offered. Maybe that was important to him – the semblance of consent… Give her a choice, then if she accepted him over destitution and who-knew-what fate, his conscience was clear no matter what he did to her afterwards.

She craned round to snatch a glance at him. He was looking at her speculatively (or so she thought), making her turn back breathlessly. She wondered what kind of things a creature like that enjoyed doing to girls.

She had thought that pretty much everything had already been done to her but some of the older women in the slaver’s cages had told her new and horrifying stories. And these women with scars and imperfectly healed broken jaws, some of whom could barely even walk – these women were the survivors. Their masters had killed their less fortunate sisters, often for resisting but sometimes as a direct result of their abuse.

She instinctively cradled her belly. She wanted to bear this child, to keep him and raise him. He was the only thing in her entire life that had been uniquely hers; the only welcome thing that had ever happened to her. The slaver’s hateful threats had worried her. She didn’t want any rough usage from her new acquaintance to jeopardise her chances of reaching full term. Perhaps if she was very submissive, she could persuade the creature to be gentle for at least the next few weeks… No, not “the creature”, she mentally admonished herself, Quintus was his name and he wanted her to use it. She had better get used to it.

Her thoughts were jolted off track by a growl from her empty stomach. They had passed a late opening food stall and the smell had caused that neglected organ to raise its petition.

Quintus must have heard her internal rumbling because he stopped and said sternly, ‘You are hungry. When did you last feed?’

She thought it an odd way to phrase it but she answered truthfully that she hadn’t eaten all day.

‘Do your people have any restrictions regarding food?’

She looked her momentary incomprehension quite innocently, but it still made him sigh impatiently.

‘The Jews are forbidden to eat pigs and dogs and such like,’ he explained sharply. ‘Do your “gods” demand any similar denials from your kind?’ He had spat out the word “gods” and she smarted a little that her tribe were described as a “kind” as if they were a breed of cattle but she shook her head.

‘Come,’ he commanded, before approaching a sausage vendor and purchasing a lump of bread and a sausage as long as his hand.

She didn’t know why she tried to lighten his mood but as she took the food from him, she casually said, ‘We are not allowed to eat other people, of course.’ She meant it light-heartedly but the meal was snatched literally from between her lips.

‘You had better not consume that then,’ he snapped. ‘Why did you not inform me of this before I had spent my money?’

‘I’m sorry,’ she cowered. ‘I just assumed...’

He actually growled, first at her and then at the stallholder, who waved her hands in protestation of her good faith. ‘It was sold to me as pork, sir,’ she bleated. ‘No one else has complained, and I’ve sold hundreds today.’ There was an unspoken insinuation that Quintus was mistaken and he evidently detected it.

‘Do you call my senses false?’ he snarled.

‘No, sir. Gods forfend! Have some fresh bread, sir, on the house. Some chickpea stew also, sir?’ She seemed scared of him, despite clearly believing herself unfairly maligned.

He turned back to Tasa and raised an inquiring eyebrow, or at least the place where an eyebrow ought to be. She nodded eagerly and was soon messily devouring the meal. She was so ravenous, she scarcely knew how it tasted but she thanked Quintus afterwards with honest fervour.

He had watched her eat with his head on one side as if curious but nodded abruptly when she spoke.

‘Odd,’ he mused aloud. ‘I am surprised at your dietary scruples given that your people sacrifice your infants to your gods in a heated bronze statue.’

She stared at him in growing horror - not that he should accuse her people of such abhorrent behaviour but that it was true. This baby was her husband’s firstborn and if it were the boy the sibyl had predicted, he would have had to be burned alive to Ba’al. Here was another ordeal escaped, more misery avoided and yet another reason to be grateful to her unlikely hero.

‘You will need more victuals tomorrow,’ the hero said, ignoring the conflicting emotions chasing themselves across Tasa’s face. ‘And clothing. We shall shop again then. My house is this way. Do not dawdle.’

As she scampered after him, trying to keep up, she wondered idly why he specified _her_ as the one who would need more food. Did he not eat, then? She laughed to herself at the absurdity.

He _was_ strange though …he didn’t even have eyebrows, for gods’ sakes! What the hell was wrong with him? She looked at him again and it hit her anew that he was huge, much bigger than any man she’d been with or even seen before. If every part of him were in proportion to his height and broad shoulders…well, perhaps she could make the inevitable less painful to her and less dangerous to her baby by preparing herself. She’d already made up her mind not to fight him like she had that disgusting slaver, but if she could convince her body that she wanted it too, then it would probably be easier. Easier for him, easier for everyone. A lubricated, frictionless entry for him would make it easier on her and her unborn child.

She had to think hard to imagine herself taking pleasure in sex. It had never been a consideration in any of her previous encounters. She wondered what he might do to further that, what forms of contact she might enjoy, where she might like to be touched.

She began to look at that hideously disfigured face with a renewed determination to find it attractive. There was nobility in his bearing – along with a cold confidence bordering on arrogance. She looked at the muscular white limbs, on display now that his cloak had been sacrificed to her comfort. They were as smooth and hairless as the rest of him. She had heard that Roman gentlemen shaved all their body hair in the interests of vanity but she suspected that this was not a cosmetic choice. She felt a sudden irrational desire to touch his strong thighs – see just how smooth they were.

At first, she essayed only the occasional glance. She’d already noticed the unnatural pallor, total baldness, pointed ears and the scarring but further surreptitious examination revealed to her his pointed teeth and that throaty growling sound he made from time to time that she found so unsettling. These features, coupled with the incredible size that her attention couldn’t help returning to, added up to one thing in her fearful mind: He was a monster. She was going home with a monster. Semi-willingly, she had to admit but going to a monster’s lair nonetheless.

She considered stopping him and saying that she had changed her mind and wanted to leave but she really did have no other choice. Besides, she’d been fed and clothed and it wasn’t as if sexual exploitation was something new to her. This “Quintus” had treated her well up to now, and saved her from the slaver so maybe, despite appearances, he was the less monstrous of the two men who might have had her tonight.

He stopped suddenly and looked down at her. ‘Do not stare,’ he demanded. She lowered her eyes and apologised once more. He continued to look at her but the injustice of his examining her with impunity after such a rebuke did not occur to a mind so long oppressed. Nonetheless, she soon began to feel that his stare had a weight and, alongside a fervent wish that he would lift it from her, she experienced a new sensation. She hoped that he would find her person moderately pleasing. Wondering why that should be, she involuntarily glanced up at him again.

It struck her then in a fleeting glimpse what had eluded more intensive scrutiny. His striking bone structure and that cold certainty of his own overarching power was actually not unpleasant to dwell upon. In fact, he was quite beautiful. Not with the feminine beauty of the poor slave who’d taken the dealer’s fancy. It was a strong, masculine beauty - the harsh lines chipped out of an unforgiving stone rather than finely moulded by a delicate hand. But yes, definitely handsome. She quickly looked away again to escape further censure. She instinctively knew that gaining his approval would be paramount. But now that she’d discovered that he was physically attractive that no longer seemed so burdensome.

Experimentally, she imagined him smoothly sliding the _pallium_ off her shoulders and watching it drop to the floor. She imagined him responding to her plea for kindness by kissing her tenderly. His lips would be soft and smooth and he would taste nice – clean, as if he’d just been drinking cold well-water. Somehow, imaginary Quintus would manage to avoid cutting her lips and tongue with his razorblade teeth. She would only accept him at first but soon respond with increasing eagerness. This would please him enough for him to gently cup and caress her breast, maybe even bend his head and kiss or lick her nipple and take it into his mouth, sucking carefully to avoid damaging it. He would nibble at it, lightly grazing it with his pointed teeth. Her breasts were quite sore and tender this late into her pregnancy so he wouldn’t spend long on them. Instead, he would carefully pick her up and carry her to… where? A bed? She’d always been grateful to be taken on a pile of furs before but maybe someone who could afford to free an overpriced slave girl would have a dedicated room kitted out exclusively for pleasure.

But then she would be ashamed to mess up an elegantly furnished apartment. Tasa looked down sadly at her bare legs. Her toes were covered in the dirt of the city and everywhere was covered in the filth of the slaver’s pit. She had tried to keep clean, using only one corner of the pen for relieving herself and spending the rest of her time sitting in the opposite one, but the straw had been far from fresh when she’d been shackled in there and there were stains of various colours and odours all over her body.

Fantasy Quintus stepped in at this point, continuing his expert seduction in surprising detail…

_He cupped her chin and lifted her downcast eyes to his. ‘Do not worry,’ he murmured to soothe her. ‘I will bathe you.’_

Tasa had never been in a bath, or had hot water to clean herself so she imagined standing in a large bucket of tepid water while Quintus washed her with a soft cloth – stroking every part of her slowly, lovingly. She enjoyed the washing but, wanting to get on to more interesting particulars, she didn’t dwell on it…

_Having bathed her, he laid her on her back on the bed and rubbed her dry, top to bottom, with a chamois. He spent extra time drying her feet, splaying the toes with his firm grip. He stopped and looked at her as he lifted the foot to his mouth and began to suck her toes. She gasped with pleasure._

_His tongue was warm, it was wet and it was strong. She shivered as it probed between the wriggly digits and then…_

…but she realised there were other places that muscular tongue could more usefully explore. No one had ever done this to her before, no one had ever cared solely for her pleasure, but now, in her imagination, Quintus ran a slow and deliberate line of kisses up the inside of her leg.

_He lingered on the smooth skin at the back of her knee, savouring the soft moans he could elicit from his slave but eventually he moved on, gradually getting higher and higher, pushing Tasa’s legs farther apart with each delicious kiss. The sensation of Quintus’ pointed ears against the inside of her thighs was strange but this alien quality, this very newness of the whole experience was delightful to her. He stopped, noticing the bruises forming on her legs and tentatively touched one, he seemed concerned by the hard knot forming beneath the surface but the shock of his touch sent a thrill up through her spine. It was part pain, part pleasure; mostly pleasure though, she had to admit._

_He spent even more excruciating time on the crease where her leg met her trunk. As she felt his nose shuffling and tickling in her thatch, she wondered if he had planned the exquisite torture of delay to heighten her ultimate ecstasy._

_Finally, after ignoring much begging from her that he stop teasing and finish her now, he stopped and drew away  to look at her. He smiled wickedly and lowered his head to a groan of relieved anticipation from Tasa. But he only began to work on the same place on the other side. She screamed angrily and began to thrash her legs around, throwing him off and trying to kick him in her frustration.  He pulled back, chuckling wolfishly until she stopped and glared at him. Their gazes locked in a battle of wills for what seemed like an eternity until she managed to breathe out the word “Please”. It was enough. Apparently, he wasn’t so cruel as to ask her to beg explicitly so he nodded magnanimously, just once, and bent his neck once again._

_The next thing she knew was the feeling of warm hands cupping her buttocks as he raised her to his greedy mouth, almost serving her up to himself like she were a bowl of honey. The lips of her sex were still closed somehow, so he lowered his mouth and lightly kissed along the line of her opening, prolonging his progress as far he judged she would tolerate. It could not be long now - she squirmed at every touch._

_She felt the tip of his warm, wet tongue poking out and retracing the route of his kisses from front to back along the still closed fissure between her lips. She half-wanted to reach down and open herself to him, spread herself wide and speed him to the ending but she found that the tension of being kept just this side of ecstasy was absolutely exquisite. He continued slowly licking downwards until he reached a tiny gap at the very end where some sweet liquid had burst through. He tasted it with every appearance of enjoyment and Tasa’s body arched. He lapped at it like a cat with cream and she screamed, involuntarily squeezing her thighs around his head. He moved quickly now; he had to – every touch was nudging her closer to the brink._

_His muscular tongue delved deeper and opened her up with one long lick. He paused to graze her hardened bud with his pointed teeth, which sent her crazy, and then his mouth was gone._

_By this time, Tasa didn’t know where, or even who, she was or she’d have screamed the whole city down in fury, so it was fortunate Quintus only took seconds to alter his position. He tried to climb on top of his slave but his weight on her bump drew the first sound of distress from her. He got to his feet and gently pulled her by the hips towards him, growling with desire. She felt the tip of something huge and hard between her inner lips and then suddenly, with one grunt of effort, or maybe of triumph, he pushed deep inside her, filling her up. She was slippery with arousal and hardly an unploughed field but he was still so big and thick and solid that she felt the intense pleasure of her flesh being stretched to accommodate his enormous…_

She was jerked out of her reverie by Quintus calling her name. Not murmuring it softly or shouting it in climax as in her daydream but sharply and repeatedly, as if annoyed. They had arrived at his home.

Tasa had worked herself up into the boldness of self-abandonment, so once inside, she grasped the initiative. She dropped the cloak on the floor and moved towards her master, smiling nervously.

‘Please be gentle with me, Quintus,’ she asked, moving her hands across his tunic front, seeking a way in. ‘I want to birth a healthy baby.’

He jerked away from her. ‘Then our intentions coincide,’ he said coldly before turning away and opening a door.

Gesturing for her to enter first, he said, ‘All the essentials for human life are inside. I will return for you after sunrise. Do not stir without.’ He turned back to add, ‘…and clean yourself up before you touch anything.’ Then he shut her in.

She stood there dumbstruck, staring at the door for some time before looking around her new cage.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you’re about to leave a comment about Tasa imagining Q as warm rather than hot or ignoring his stinger entirely…please carry on...  
> But in my defence, she hasn’t actually touched him yet or seen the stinger.


End file.
